Twenty-six

 

Liv

 

He took me to a wooden lodge on stilts with a palm-woven roof not far from the pavilion we said our vows in. We took a stone path there leading straight to its worn, wooden staircase. I was breathing heavy the entire walk there, completely aware we had eyes on us everywhere. His men were never far, and there seemed to be a manor worker lurking close-by every time I built the courage to look up and glance.

How he had men here confirmed what I had suspected upon arriving here. This had been planned meticulously. He had never intended on marrying me in that nasty room.

I’d been played again.

He’d thought about this a lot.

Reaper didn’t seem to mind I was trailing behind him, and it made it easier not to have to look him in the face. It’d been hard enough saying “I do” with his deep, burning brown eyes staring into my own. His hair had loosened from the back. Tendrils of it fell over his crisp, white button-up. The man was so broad, so much larger than me, I could fit in his shadow. The scent of him wafted to me every step of the way, bringing me closer to the memory of him over top of me in that disgusting room, knowing soon enough he’d be on top of me again and in me for the first time.

The thought alone made me want to hunch over, but I resisted. Instead, I wrapped an arm around my stomach and told myself to breathe.

He got to the door of the lodge, pulled out a key from his pocket and unlocked it. Then he pushed it open and waited for me to go in first. I moved past him quickly, stepping through and creating as much distance as possible from him.

My heart hadn’t slowed down once. I felt shaky all the way to the tips of my fingers. Aware of what was to come, a powerful force of resistance moved within me. He didn’t follow straight away. I reached five or so feet before my body turned sideways to sneak a look at him. He slowly came in, staring right at me, seeming to already read my hostility.

Looking away, I quickly took in my surroundings. The entrance was wide and open, leading to a rustic kitchen on my right and an open living room straight ahead. There were large windows in the living room, and I could see the view from here, of a curved river and endless jungle. This was the total opposite of the barred hovel I was in.

He shut the door and I heard the click of the lock in place, alerting me back to him. He remained rooted beside the door, watching me.

I wasn’t going to break the silence. What was there to be said? We were here for one reason and one reason only. I moved away, treading backwards into the kitchen. I felt like a cornered prey, because he advanced with one slow step, his eyes now roaming me.

He wouldn’t force himself on me just like that, right? He’d resisted before. Plus, he’d been cheeky in the pavilion. He wasn’t a rapist. He said so himself. Yet…why did I feel suddenly so cold and afraid?

I was off-limits to him before. Forbidden fruit, he’d said. Now I wasn’t. Now…none of our challenges meant a thing anymore. No more push and pull.

No more fight.

My mind raced. I didn’t realize I’d let go of the bouquet until it hit the floor, touching my foot. I looked down at it, feeling out of sorts. Then I looked at him. He was standing still, watching my entire reaction. He was finally seeing the headcase that I was. The way I morphed back and forth into two different people; the first person was a defiant smart mouth; the second was a frightened child locked inside a grown ass woman.

“Olivia,” he said, solemnly, “take it easy. You’re freaking out.”

I hadn’t freaked out like this since the night I’d held the blade to his throat. I was feeling those exact fears, only infinitely worse. And just thinking about that night had me scanning the counters quickly, taking sight of the knife block beside the sink. I reached for it quickly, pulling a knife out. My heart sank when I realized how small it was. A fucking steak knife. But I didn’t have time to replace it because he’d taken another step, and I was moving backwards again. There was a weary look in his eye.

“Really,” he said in that deep voice of his, his brows shooting up in mock surprise. “This again?”

I frowned, almost tempted to acknowledge how stupid this was. “You didn’t think I would try?” Even I sounded disappointed. “Haven’t I defied you enough?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking amused now. “I thought you would be more creative the next time. I didn’t take you to recycle the same lame attempts as before.”

“Lame?” I scoffed, not moving now because he had stopped, and we were a good four feet from each other. “I could have killed you.”

His amusement didn’t lessen. “Jesus, this again? You really thought I put it there by mistake.”

“It doesn’t matter. That was then. This is different now.”

“Put the knife down,” he then demanded. “You’ll just hurt yourself.”

I gripped it tighter. “No.”

“It’s a cheap fucking steak knife. I doubt you could cut bread with it.”

“I can try.”

His eyes dug into mine, and I could see the patience bleeding out of him now. “So, what happens next then, little rebel? You going to provoke me? Going to spring at me with that knife until I have no choice but to rip it out of your hand and possibly hurt you in the process?”

“I’ll stab you,” I spat out.

“You think I’m frightened of a little stab?” he returned, wryly. “Didn’t get a good look at my skin before? I’m surprised, since you couldn’t seem to look anywhere else.”

As if to prove a point, he began unbuttoning his vest and shirt, splaying it open in front of me. My eyes dropped to his defined chest, the tattoos, the muscles cutting into his stomach, and to the gashes and thick scars decorating him in the most painful places. My mouth fell open. I’d seen him shirtless, but never in this lighting. Never so vividly.

“You’ve been hurt,” I murmured, disturbed.

His eyes came alive. “You should see what happened to the others.”

A chill went down my spine. He took another step to me, and I backed up, until my back was against the corner where the fridge was. He was cautious now, taking measured, slow steps, his eyes moving from me to the steak knife. I felt skittish, angered by his relaxed nature. It wasn’t fair he was so composed, and I was a nervous wreck.

“Olivia,” he said in warning, snapping my attention to him. “Let go of the knife.”

I still didn’t. I feared what followed. Of how painful the next hour was going to be with him inside me. I wasn’t prepared. No matter how many times I ran through the mental exercise of losing my virginity, it never dulled the fear. I thought of Tony. Of knives inside me.

“You’ve been in my bed every night,” he said. “Nothing’s different.”

He was right. I knew that. I just couldn’t seem to get my body to cooperate.

Reaper lunged at me suddenly, grabbing at my arm quicker than I could blink. He pressed it against the wall above my head, and I squirmed, seething beneath him. He forced his hand up my arm, all the while trapping me with his body, leaving not one part of me untouched. His eyes drilled into mine, the coldness present as ever, glaring into me, into my soul. I felt his anger inside me, a coldness that trumped mine.

“I said it before when you had the chance,” he growled down at me, lowering his face so his mouth was practically touching mine. “I told you to do it, didn’t I? Why didn’t you?”

His hand wrapped painfully around mine, and he forced it down, so it was in between us, the steak knife literally inches from my eyes. Then he brought it to his throat, exactly where his pulse was. There was a monstrous look about him as he did it. He was positively animalistic, and I felt frightened for him. For the crazed side that he seemed to have no control over.

“Do it,” he whispered. “Here’s your second opportunity. Gut me, little rebel. Go on.”

Tears sprang to my eyes, shocked at how frighteningly serious he was. There was a dead look about him. His eyes went distant, like he accepted it.

Soulless.

I understood that more than ever. I felt it. I felt the death in him.

“No,” I panted out, quaking. “Let go. Now! Let go because I can’t.”

But he wouldn’t let go. He kept it there, kept the space suffocated between us. I felt his heat against me. His body was draped around me, and I had nowhere to look but at his face and eyes. Haunted dark eyes. Lips that were pursed and determined. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, transferring it to him because that’s how fucking close he was.

“Remy,” I whispered, pleadingly, using his real name. “Let go. I want the other you back. Please. I want the other you, Remy. This was stupid. Come back.”

Just like that, his face went flat, and he let go of my hand, and I let go of the steak knife, desperate to get rid of it. It fell and shuddered on the floor beside our feet. I was shaking, and confused because he was still pressed against me, still staring down at me.

“Let’s not play with knives anymore, Olivia,” he said, vacantly. “But keep defying me. It keeps my interest piqued just enough to stretch this out.”

My head shot up to look at him. “Keep what stretched out?”

His smirk returned. “You know what.”

The consummation. “I’m fucking batshit scared, Remy. I wish you would have just taken it from me the moment you met me.”

“I’m a monster, not a rapist. We established that already.” With that, he pulled away, replacing his body with air. It made me feel cold.

He opened a few cabinets in search of something. After the third, he removed a tumbler and grabbed at the bottle of whiskey on the counter. There were more alcohol bottles there, and flowers circling them with a congratulatory card. Yeah, congratulations to getting married to a psycho, here’s a bunch of alcohol for endurance.

“What a fitting pair we make,” I whispered, blinking up at him. “The monster and the pigeon.”

He quietly studied me. “Why pigeon?”

“Eternity Man said it to me once. Said I wasn’t a pigeon, but he was wrong. I looked it up years later. Means defenceless.”

“Is what you are right now? Defenceless?”

“Around you, yeah. Can’t you tell?”

“Afraid,” he said. “That’s the word I would have chosen.”

I watched him pour half a finger of the whiskey in, then he smashed it in one giant gulp, his body tensing at the burn. When he glanced back at me, I felt goosebumps on my flesh. I wrapped my arms around my front, unable to look away from him.

“You look like you need this more than me,” he remarked with a ghost of a smile. “Want the burn, feisty?”

How could he do that? Go from terrifying to looking chill as fuck?

I ground my teeth together and shook my head. I’d never had whiskey before. Just wine and champagne, and buckets of it. I glanced at the alcohol, spotting a few bottles of the wine. He followed my gaze and smirked. He grabbed the neck of one and unscrewed it. Pulling out a wine glass, he filled it up halfway and slid it to me. I took it and brought it to my mouth, aware as ever he was watching me. He filled his glass up, and I sipped mine. A few sips later, I began to regain my composure, the disturbed event from minutes ago ebbing away.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “That was…I let it get to my head.”

“I can see that,” he replied softly. “You were begging me to fuck you not too long ago.”

“I know. That’s the duality right now. When you’ve been scared for so long about what everyone describes as a traumatizing experience, the closer it gets, the worse you feel.”

“What about those moments then? When you’re beggin’?”

“I was lost in you,” I admitted, avoiding his deep stare. “And part of me always trusted you. That you’d…listen if I said no. So, there you go, I guess I’m a tease after all.”

He looked down into his tumbler, reflecting. “Thing with you, Olivia, is you give it everything you got in the moment. You let go pretty fucking hard. You wear your feelings on your sleeve. Every time I got close to you, felt you pantin’ there underneath me, I knew it was genuine. I wasn’t sure after the incident with the fuckin’ knife, but I was all the times after that. You push yourself. You…wanna see how far you can go. You don’t kiss me to bury some emotion. You don’t use me because you’re tryin’ to forget some other pair of lips you’ve kissed and are tryin’ to measure against. You don’t look guilty after. You’re genuine.”

“Cute, you described me,” I pointed out, biting my lower lip.

“Very cute.”

I felt a little better, but still embarrassed.

“How important is this consummation anyway?” I asked, trying to fill the silent gap. “Who’s gonna even know?”

“You’re wearing my ring, and you’ve taken my name. We belong to each other now. There’s no going back. You’re mine. In the eyes of everyone, they’ll see that ring and know. But in the room, between you and me, we don’t. Not until it’s happened. Until I know the agreement is real. And I won’t know it’s real until you’re quaking around my cock, Olivia.”

My eyes narrowed at him. “That doesn’t sound like business.”

“What does it sound like?”

“Like you’re making an excuse to want this.”

“Is this the start of our back and forth chatter where you wind me up and I call you out on being defiant?” he asked, knocking back the last of his whiskey again before slamming it back down on the counter. His lips were wet as he took a few deep breaths, looking at me with those strands of dark hair framing his face. Leaning closer to me, so close his breaths hit my face, he said, “You spread your thighs apart for me not so long ago. You remember when you said you were horny? You know that feeling you equated to blue balls? That’s how I’ve been feeling the second I laid eyes on you. Get over your reluctance. I ain’t a sadist. There will be no knife in pussy bullshit like that fuckface prick threatened you with. The only thing I wanna bury inside you is me. Got it?”

I stiffened a nod, staring down at his lips as he spoke. He pulled back, and tore his suit jacket off, throwing it down on the counter. Looking back at me, he loosened the tie around his neck and motioned at my dress.

“Strip,” he demanded.

My spine straightened in shock. “What?”

“Strip here with me. You and I. One item at a time.”

“You’ve got a whole ensemble, and I’m just in a dress.”

“Better for me.”

“I’m not stripping for you.”

“Let me ask you something, feisty,” he said, moving closer to me, his head dropping to my level, “when you think of your first fuck, how does it go in your pretty little head? Is it all romantic? Is he slow and doting? Or does he fuck you hard because you want the pleasure mixed with the pain?”

“I don’t know what I think of.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t!”

He shook his head before pressing his body against mine, pushing me back until I was against the counter again. I felt his warmth all over again. Fuck, it was addictive. I felt his cock bursting through his pants, pressed against my hip. He covered me whole, taking my ass into the palm of his hands. Suddenly, my breathing was faster. I looked up at him, already wracked with lust as he made sure I felt every part of him.

“Tell me what you want when I’m touching you like this, Olivia,” he growled, patience completely gone now. I could see the tension in him. His grip on my ass was hard. He wanted me. “Tell me what you want your first time to be like. Now.”

My head felt cloudy. Thoughts blazed in my mind as I breathed him in. “I…I want it to mean something,” I forced out.

“Why?” he rasped.

“Because…” God this was hard. “Because I never thought it would.”

Reaper’s movements slowed as he looked me over, thinking of my words. I stared back at him, my skin hot from my admission. Then he nodded slowly, understanding. His hands journeyed past my ass, hiking my dress up slowly. Every inch of me was still pressed against him, his eyes were on mine, lips skimming lips.

“What do you like?” he asked, slowly picking me up off the ground, his hands wrapped around each thigh. “What makes you come alive?”

I shut my eyes, the tugs in my centre already starting. As I spoke, I was aware we were moving. “I like when you’re pushing me. When you take control. When you strip away my power, but then I find it in the end. I like the small challenges. The teases and the anger and then…the temptation to let go.”

A door kicked open. Light poured in. He kissed my lips once, tasting me with his tongue, and then he…let me go.

My back hit a mattress and my eyes whipped open, stunned. He stood by the edge of the bed – a very nice, large, four poster bed – and smiled devilishly at me. He tugged his tie completely loose and threw it down beside my head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking in my expression, climbing over me. “You said you liked it like this.”

“A little warning wouldn’t kill,” I seethed.

“You don’t like it predictable.” He kissed up my neck. “You like to be surprised. I got to know you well in that room, babe. You come alive with the adrenaline.”

He was right. I did. I squirmed under him, forcing my legs together. He noticed and laughed deep in his throat. He pulled away to look down at me. I saw his excitement – felt it against my leg. “Open up,” he said.

My body came alive as I smirked darkly back at him. “No.”

He was covering me whole, his face against mine, nose touching nose, but he wasn’t kissing me. He waited for my move, for me to give in. I felt his hand run up my leg. He slipped it under my dress, gauging my reaction as his thumb stroked my inner thigh, coaxing me to spread.

I tensed, almost letting go. I felt so wet, and he had barely done anything. I breathed harder as he waited for my move. He stared at my face closely, the ache behind his gaze growing heavier.

I was back in my zone. Back in our little bubble only he and I existed in. I was free to push, and he was free to pull. I could wind him up and watch the cracks in his face. This is what I needed. The despair – the fear – evaporated when I was beneath this man. He was owning me quickly.

“You know a bride spends a whole day in her dress,” I said, practically panting as I fought the urge to spread my thighs apart and welcome him in. “She spends it getting pampered with attention. Having pictures taken. Watching her husband lust after her. The whole day, Reaper. Maybe we should do that. Wait the whole day before you fuck me.”

“You tryin’ to torture me?” His thumb ran up the line where my thighs were planted together. It stopped at my underwear. His thumb slowly grazed my folds through the lace, causing me to gasp at the jolts of pleasure I felt. He liked that. “I’m good with torture.”

“Good.” I struggled not to moan. “Let’s do it then. Let’s wait the whole day. Corner me like prey. Fuck me with your eyes while I let you cop a feel of my tits. You think you can do that?”

He chuckled lightly. “You forget, feisty, who has more experience between us. I’m more in control than you think, but you…” He grazed me again, watching as my mouth fell open in pleasure with that smug look. “You’re a clean slate. It’s kind of fucking hot, but kind of annoying too. I gotta take it easy on you. Can’t break you in like I want to.”

I pressed my hands against his chest. He was tense, his muscles flexed against my palm. He was fighting, but he was right too. He was composed as all hell. He could do this to me all day.

Liking the challenge, I lifted my head, cutting the tiny distance between us to kiss him. He didn’t kiss back, which aroused me even more. I slipped my tongue out, tracing along his red, wet lips. Just doing that made him rub me again, this time harder. He had perfect access to my clit like this. Clenching my thighs together wasn’t doing a damn thing. I quaked under him.

“Stop,” I told him, and immediately he stopped. Jesus, when he stopped it made me feel good. Like I was heard. Like it mattered what I wanted. His chest was moving fast. His forehead pressed against mine, like he was close to defeat. It felt like minutes went by before we calmed down and I started kissing him again. This time he was moving his lips, kissing me back. It started off slow and soft. It started off with butterflies in my belly and wet strokes and gentle nibbles.

Then it was more.

Out of nowhere more.

I kissed him harder, still fighting to keep my legs together. We ravaged each other’s lips. My hands snaked up his chest. I gripped at his shoulders, unable to stop my hips from rolling. With that, my clit rubbed against his thumb, and another jolt of pleasure tore through me. I moaned aloud this time, unable to swallow it down.

“Spread,” he demanded, unable to hold back either.

I spread, defeated. Like a switch, his movements became feverish. He gripped my underwear and tore it roughly down my leg like it burned him to touch it. He pulled away from my lips and flipped me over on my stomach. His front pressed against my back, every inch of me covered by his giant frame. He slid his hand back under me and rubbed my bare clit. His other hand grabbed at my zipper, and he tugged it down, painfully slow. He bit at my shoulder, sucking at the skin. I felt his cock hardening impossibly against my ass. I panted against the sheets as he continued the torture, the nibbles, the rubbing.

“I gotta admit,” he forced out, pained but exhilarated, “I’ve never been this excited before, babe. There’s something seriously fucking wrong with your smart mouth, but I’m lovin’ it. I want it wrapped around my cock next. You gonna do that for me, feisty?”

I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t even concentrate. I was breathing heavily into the sheets as he played with me, lost in the feeling. “I’m getting close, Reaper.” My whole body started shaking.

“I want you to come, but not by my hand,” he said. He pulled his hand away, which prolonged the sweet torture. He pulled my dress and slip down at the same time, stripping me as I lay there. I let him. I was too far gone – too far turned on – to play around anymore.

Flipping me on my back like I weighed nothing, he unzipped his pants and reached into his briefs. I watched him through hazy eyes as he jerked himself slowly, looking over every inch of me. He liked what he saw. I used my feet to drag his pants down, until they were down his legs. He used his feet to kick them off completely. He freed himself, rubbing his length against my slit, guiding it up and down until he was covered in me. I shook beneath him, feeling tingles from head to toe. I moaned into his mouth and ran my hands down his back, clenching tightly at his dress shirt as he moved, building me up again.

“Do somethin’ for me, Olivia.” He said, kissing me, licking me, tugging at my bottom lip, all while looking me in the eyes. “Let go right now. I’ll be gentle when I start. I’ll fuck you slow, until you’re used to my size. Until it feels so good, I can pound into you harder and make you scream. Fuck, I’m going to love to hear you scream. This will mean something to you, but come mornin’, I don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t do love. You knew that, though, didn’t you?”

Still dazed, I saw the sincerity in him as he spoke, and I breathed out, “I knew that.”

I knew that well, and, frankly, I didn’t give a fuck. His words would go through my brain later. It was irrelevant right now. Right now, I just wanted to be owned.

“Good. Tell me when you’re so turned on, you can hardly look straight.”

I licked my lips. “I’m there, Reaper.”

“No, you’ll be there when you can barely talk. I want you dripping. I want this mattress too far fucked to salvage after this. Tell me when that happens.”

I felt it though. I felt like I could barely think, much less speak. I looked at him. His gaze was fixed on mine, taking in my reaction as he rubbed his tip up and down so excruciatingly slow. I moaned, lifting my hips to his every stroke. I was searching for that orgasm. We both looked down, watching as he stopped and lingered at my entrance.

“Do it,” I moaned.

“Hold onto me,” he said. “Relax your legs.”

My fingers dug into his back, clenching his shirt. I tried to relax my legs, but for some reason it felt like they were naturally trying to keep him out. He bent down and kissed me, distracting me with his tongue. My legs loosened on their own, the need for him inside of me growing.

He nudged himself at my entrance and I pulled away from his mouth, already closing my eyes tight at the foreign feeling. I took a deep breath and held it, waiting for him to slide inside and destroy the pleasure in one stroke.

“Breathe,” he murmured, and fuck, he sounded so caring. “Relax.”

He pressed his forehead against mine and continued to slowly push into me, stretching me. He was big. Too fucking big. It was like being slowly pounded in by the tip of a goddamn baseball bat.

“You’re not gonna fit,” I whimpered, already beginning to resist.

He laughed deep and planted a chaste kiss on my mouth. “You’d be surprised. Now, stop resisting me and let me in.”

“I’m not trying to let you out, Reaper,” I growled at him. “You’re just too fucking big. It’s all in the math. The equation is simple. You’re too big.”

“It ain’t math, babe. The pussy is a god in bed and it can handle big.”

“Not your big.” Oh, God. My legs tightened back around him. “We’re back here again, aren’t we? The pointless conversations. The annoying little remarks –”

He kissed me, shutting me up. His kiss was more erotic than before. His strokes were languid, his tongue sensual as it explored my mouth. My stubborn legs relaxed again, and he pushed in a little deeper. I breathed out hard in his mouth, tightening my grip around him. The pain tore through me so suddenly.

“That’s it,” he groaned, patiently waiting for me to adjust to him. “We’re there. We’re done.”

I cried into his mouth. Tears stung my vision. I felt his hand at my face, stroking my tears as they fell. He was so tender. I looked at him as he went, pleading. He was solemn, kissing my eyes, my nose, my tears. He was fucking me up with that look. Like he cared for my pain. Like he wanted to make it stop.

I shut my eyes, so I wouldn’t see it. He moved in and out of me, getting me used to his size, to the rhythm of his strokes. Soon, my legs couldn’t be more relaxed. The pain ebbed away, and pleasure resurfaced. I gripped him hard, but not out of fear, but out of pleasure. I moaned as he pounded into me, harder and deeper. And then it hit me. So suddenly, I hadn’t even felt the build-up. I clenched him so hard, groaning out as the pleasure coated me from head to toe. I called out his name, chanted it in his ear.

“Remy,” I whispered, repeatedly. “Remy.”

He paused abruptly, breathing into my neck, waiting for me to come down. As he waited, he kissed down my neck and circled his tongue around my nipple. My body responded quickly, jumping at the nerves he touched with that simple move.

“On your knees,” he demanded. “Now.” There was an urgency in him. I may have been languid, but he was stiff, his length protruding hard as ever. He had a scary look. A look that said, I need you now. I’m having you, so help me god.

With his help, I flipped over, and he grabbed at my hips. He pulled me up on my knees, rubbing the tip of his cock along my clit. I felt him shake over me. He couldn’t hold back. He wasn’t going to wait another second.

He thrust into me hard, groaning loud. I bucked under his touch, sparks already flying through me. “Yes, yes,” I whispered, pressing against him.

“Head down,” he said. “All the way.”

I pressed my head down on the mattress and he moved. He didn’t hold back. He moved recklessly, pounding into me, making sure the pain was drowned by pleasure. His hands were everywhere. Down my spine. Squeezing at my hips. Groping at my breast.

I came hard again, gripping the bedsheets tightly as I rode through the wave. I felt him move feverishly, burying me with his cock so deep, it grazed against a sensitive part that gave me after shocks of pleasure.

He started swearing under his breath. “Fuck, feisty. Fuck, fuck.”

He lost himself at the end, coming hard inside me, his fingertips digging into my hips.

I was dizzy by the time he collapsed next to me, tugging me down and into his side. He stroked my back, my shoulders, my ass, all the while staring up at the ceiling with a dazed – but satisfied – look in his eyes.

“Round two in an hour,” he declared as I turned to my side and buried my face against his ribs.

“An hour?” I murmured, wryly. “I thought I wasn’t going to keep up with you. Now I’m starting to wonder if it’s the other way around.”

 He slapped me hard on the ass. “You’re gonna wish you never said that.”

“Good,” I muttered, already dozing. “I hope so.”

 

 

He picked me up and led me to the shower shortly after I’d come down from my high. I had blood down my legs, and I was complaining that it was probably all over the sheets.

“I’ll change them after I get out,” I told Reaper as I stood under the blazing water.

“Shut up,” he said, stepping in with me. “It’s nothing.”

“You don’t like blood, though.”

His head jerked in my direction, not expecting that response. “What makes you say that?”

I shrugged, shutting my eyes as the water ran down my face. “I saw how you looked at my toe. There was blood on it, and you looked horrified. It’s pretty ironic, coming from you.”

He didn’t respond straight away. Instead, he loaded a loofah up with soap and scrubbed me. “You’re right,” he acknowledged. “I don’t like blood, but I’m fine with your blood.”

I smiled. “That’s creepily sweet.”

After he’d washed me head to toe, learning every inch of my body, I reciprocated, enjoying the journey. His body was easy on the eyes. A little too easy. When we finished, he turned the water off and wrapped my body up with the towel and carried me to the bed. We didn’t talk. We didn’t need to. We laid there, sprawled all over each other, not needing to communicate out loud.

Everything had been said anyway.

There was nothing left but learning the language of touch. And judging by the way his fingers began to roam my folds, slipping his finger slowly – teasingly – into my entrance, he seemed to agree.